Philip caught up a blanket, and wrapped his Margaret in it from head to foot. All was dark outside, except when the lightning lit up the scene.
"Keep close, Margaret," said Philip.
As if she needed telling!
"A black night, indeed," said Mr. Hart, holding his hand before his eyes; "a black night, in every sense of the word. One wants sailors' eyes at such a time. Why, where's the theatre?"
A flash of lightning had revealed to him the space where the theatre had stood, but the roof was no longer visible. Their forms had been recognised in the flash.
"Is that you, Hart?" cried a hearty voice.
It was William Smith who spoke, and his voice was as cheery and as ringing as the blast of a silver trumpet.
"Yes."
"Who is that with you?"
"Philip."